The Blue Feather Reverers
Harriet's Orphanage, Hamlet
Mentions: NA Interactions: Harriet (@SporkoBug)
The boys all sat down on the sofa and loveseats, already looking more visibly comfortable in warmer temperatures. The younger of the boys immediately perked up at the mention of hot drinks, and they allowed themselves to smile.
The older boys, however, were looking amongst each other, talking in hushed whispered, before one turned to Harriet. His clammy hands pulled on his jeans, and there was earnestness in his eyes.
”Miss Talon? We don't want to be compensated. At least, not like this. Please, would you consider hiring us? We all know how to fire a gun, and we don't want to see anything bad happen to you.”
The other boys all nodded their heads in agreement. Life must have been hard for them to be so willing to protect the few bastions of goodness left remaining in Nocturnia. However, they were good and willing boys, ready to take on the responsibilities of men.
As Harriet would consider it, an unexpected noise would break the silence. Her cellphone. If she were to look at the screen, she would see the caller ID read “Nocturnia PD”.
If she decided to pick up the call, a melodious baritone voice would croon on the other end.
”Miss Talon, this is Detective Kingsley with the Nocturnia Police. I had a proposal for you. You see, there's quite a bit of disturbing information coming to light on you. I wanted you the opportunity to get ahead of it, and maybe reduce the sentence coming your way.
“Surrender yourself willingly, confess to your crimes, and we can work out a deal.
“Or… I'll be coming after you with the full force of the PD. Up to you.”
Harriet: W +1.5 P +5Webb: W +0.5 P +0Ezra: W +6 P +10 | W -0.5
An Anonymous Email Incoming Across Nocturnia
Mentions: NA Interactions: Emily (@LanaStorm), Bella (@Qia), Glyde (@Estylwen), Leon (@Herald), Asterion (@The Savant), Matthias (@ERode)
The afternoon clouds had yet to depart, almost seemingly oppressive over the city. Despite the gloom and mystery they brought, work still had to be done. And for Cyrus, that meant sending out a few fish hooks in the stream. His intel was good, he knew. Now? If he could turn a profit on that, all the better.
In the next few minutes, emails were sent out separately to Emily of the Blue Bloods, Bella of the Red Rose Syndicate, Glyde of the Del Guarde, Asterion of the Kairo Mafia, Leon of the 2nd Division, and Matthias of the Order.
The email read as follows:
Emily: W +3.5 P +7The Invasion of Merryland
Merryland
In collaboration with @ERode
Mentions: NA Interactions: Matthias and the Order (@ERode)
Merryland was quiet today.
Too quiet.
Residents went about their daily business. Shanking a person here, selling or taking drugs there. Pawnshop owners turning a blind eye to obviously stolen goods. Drunken brawls in the midday light. Homeless people slumped against the wall, bearing the cold weather in their tattered coats.
Del Guarde personnel patrolled the area in black vehicles, dressed in fake cop uniforms. Convincing enough from a distance. However, their weapons were certainly real.
It was quiet. But, some would say, not for long…
The Order came surreptitiously. Since the takeover by the Del Guarde, both illicit and artistic activities within Merryland had to be pushed further underground, and the once thriving music scene was forced to keep quiet under the gaze of the men in black. Junk Valley, certainly, was no longer a popular hang-out spot for the wannabe gangsters, and the last few people who were killed in the Bottom Barrel were killed by cops, a quick burst of gunfire silencing dissidence.
So it was simple. Where the Del Guarde sought to enact control over the community, instilling an order that ran counter to the culture of Merryland, those that sought Enlightenment promised to allow such expressions to flourish. After all, though the Industrial Revolution was one of the grand eras of humanity, so too was the Renaissance, that period of time where scientists, philosophers, artists, musicians, all sought to surpass antiquity, to test the limits of their capabilities. Pamphlets were passed, as were QR codes. Would Merryland remain naught more but another crime-infested slum, another Pauper Town? Would they let this winter remain, guarding their tongue lest they lose their lives?
Foolish. That was how art truly died. Not through steel entering heart or brain, but through fear silencing the passions of the mind.
It wasn't long before Del Guarde caught wind of this interference from the Order. It was everything they feared. So, obviously, there was only one thing to do. The patrollers picked up pamphlets of their own, and kept their ears to the ground. If the Order was going to organize any type of gathering, Del Guarde would know.
And then, they would act.
Where could they gather, after all, except the Bottom Barrel? It was an open meeting, for all those in Merryland to voice their dissent and complaints, to express whatever they’ve bottled up. Emotion was anathema to rationality, but that didn’t mean that it was necessarily something to seal away. It could be guided. It could be used.
So of course, in the evening, the people gathered, trickling in over successive hours. Officially, the venue was offering discounted drinks. Unofficially…well, there was a reason why the dress code that night was ‘Masquerade’.
Soon, at least five members of the Del Guarde intermingled in the party, dressed the part as well. More were stationed outside in case things got out of hand.
Their goal?
Arrest as many people as they could if things got a bit too active. And, of course, arrest the hosts at the right time.
It was of course, active from the get go, when the first performance was that of them bringing out an effigy of a pig dressed like a cop and setting it aflame while a half-naked man hammered nails into the burning straw. Strobe lights struck like thunderclaps as others performed their own arts upon a rotating stage, from visceral freestyle rap to esoteric interpretive dance.
There was a seething resentment there, one that further heightened with every performance, the vibrant, bristling crowd jostling around the undercover Del Guarde as they hooted and hollered. No fear this time, no restraint!
It was a pressure cooker. And the Order was powering it.
Thought it was certainly a shock to the system to see the utter hate that the people had for the pretend-cops, that's what they were at the end of the day: pretend cops. Del Guarde had a much bigger agenda than appeasing some peasants.
They wouldn't make a move, not unless this crowd got riotous and truly violent. Of course, Del Guarde also tried to look a little more carefully for the organizers. The Order had to go.
The night continued, but once things kicked off, it became a self-perpetuating cycle. The energy was feverish, infecting both regulars at the Bottom Barrel and residents of Merryland who had simply been drawn in with the promise of pizza and performances. There was no doubt that the Order had sponsored the event, but how much of a role did they play in organizing it?
Masked as all the partygoers were, who could tell, really?
It was becoming evident, however, that the intensity of the meeting had reached a boiling point. Alcohol had gotten into some people’s systems. Their friends’ opinions had gotten into others' systems. Animosity bloomed like steam from a nuclear reactor. And then, the trigger.
All lights and music turned off, and the projected screens switched to reveal a collection of photos. Military-grade weapons wielded by the Del Guarde. The type of plane that flew overhead just last week, the package that was parachuted down. The identity of some of these ‘cops’, social media accounts revealing how their entire family was outside of Nocturnia.
A voice sounded out across the darkness.
“THE DEL GUARDE ARE MILITARY!”
Alright, that was enough. The hidden Del Guarde glanced at one another, some murmuring into radios, others pulling gas masks from a bag. Then, it was go time.
Some of the Del Guarde that had been stationed outside burst through the doors, firing tear gas canisters from launchers. Very quickly, the building was filled with choking smoke.
And the Del Guarde within the building began picking off the roudier attendants, arresting them with zip ties and dragging them outside. Even if they snagged one actual Order out of this, it was fine. And the rest? Fine ‘em, put ‘em on house arrest. This district was under military occupation, after all. They had to learn who was really in charge.
Wherever Matthias was, he wasn't there for long. A group of masked people broke into his office and took his at gunpoint, throwing him into the back of an SUV and peeling off. Their getaway vehicle lacked any license plate or obvious markers, making it harder to track.
Matthias eventually found himself dragged out of the SUV and shoved into a wooden chair in the shambles of a dusty safe house, windows boarded up and light offered only by a single floodlight on the floor. His hands and feet were bound in place, restricting his movements.
Among the shadows in the corner of what might have been a living room, a single figure approached, crossing her arms over her punk black outfit. Anna D'Rochelle, or better known as Phade, loomed over Matthias.
”Well, well, the ‘prophet' himself.” She said, snake bite piercings framing a contemptuous smile.
”My boss has quite an interest in you, Lodestar. Why don't we start with some easy questions, hm? Let's start with your real name.”
Her smile quirked slightly. ”And you can tell me about this… expansion you've got going on with your little cult.”
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, he knew he should’ve set up all that annoying stuff like guards and all that! God, why on earth did he think he’d be harder to find without a face than with? The only thing that he ought to be grateful for was the fact that they didn’t just gun him down right where he stood, but wasn’t this fucking terrible too? C’mon Matt, breathe, c’mon…
He tried to breathe, but it wasn’t like his lungs really functioned like actual lungs anyways. Which was good, because his heart didn’t really function like a regular heart either, so as long as he kept his movements stable, it was basically impossible to tell just what he was feeling in that moment. Physically, at least.
Mentally? He was fucked. Could only hope the Order continued to follow his orders once the upper echelon realized he was missing.
But first, this one before him required his attention. How should he approach this? Casual? Hard-boiled? Super compliant? Pull off the mask? Hrm…
“My real name is on our faith’s website,” Matthias said, doing his best to keep his tone even. “And as for the Order’s expansion…what reason do I need, other than to get rid of the cops bordering my territory? You look like the sort that’d enjoy Merryland as it was; it’s a better place without gung-ho pigs watching every corner.”
Matthias could hear the grumbling of guards and the shift of rifles in tight grips. Phade stared him Matthias with a flat stare, before rolling her eyes, hand on her hip.
”Hot out the box and you're already giving me attitude. But… no matter.”
Phade reached for one of the chairs scattered in the darkness of the room, sliding it across worn wood and sitting down with a thump in front of Matthias. Her pistol was upholstered, and she pulled out the magazine, drawing up one of the bullets. The gun was reholstered as she held up the bullet for Matthias to inspect.
”What am I holding here, Lodestar?”
“A bullet.”
Matthias would feel his insides turn cold and airy as Phade suddenly stuck her hand through his chest, holding the phased bullet directly inside his beating heart.
”And, tell me, what would happen if I were to let go of this bullet inside your body?”
He shrugged, despite himself. Gyfts functioned in many differing ways. One could never be certain how exactly they functioned.
That, of course, was entirely just a logical veneer. After all, Matthias was currently squeezing his pelvic muscles as hard as possible in order to keep his urine inside his body rather than inside his pants.
There was a cold gaze in Phade's eyes. ”So. Your plans for expansion. The real reason. You're not a mafia. Or are you?
“Where are you expanding? And when? And please, give me a bullshit answer. I want to see how a bullet lodged in your heart kills you.”
Thankfully, when even his eyelids were an amorphous substance that only occasionally appeared, it was supremely difficult to tell whether his eyes were closed or not in that instance. Even as he could feel the iciness of Phade’s eyes creep into his gas-skull, Matthias still found solace in the darkness granted by closing his eyes.
He had to gather himself. She had no clue after all, about who he was, if she couldn’t even be bothered to check the Order of Enlightenment’s website. It was a rush job, no doubt, orchestrated by someone who hadn’t even considered him to be on the radar until the Order had claimed Pauper Town. The thing then, was whether or not to tell the fabricated truth, to tell a convincing lie, or to tell the actual truth.
The prophet quieted his mind.
“The Order is an organization, in the end. The ‘mafias’ make their money through drug sales. The ‘police’ make their money through contracts with for-profit prisons. The Order, by comparison, makes money from the donations of our followers.” It was hard to gesticulate, but the smoke that constituted his head curled, in a way that seemed intentional yet meaningless. “Money’s hard to come across when it’s spent on drugs or bail. Del Guarde’s closest and an active threat, considering the Commissioner’s got it out for me. So, you get it, right?”
Matthias shrugged.
“And if you don’t, we run private schools. Never too late to start learning.”
Phade smirked, staring at him a long moment more before withdrawing her hand, the bullet glinting between her fingertips.
”Well, it just so happens I'm aware of your people making an appearance in Merryland. So here's how this is gonna work. You call off your people. You promise to leave Merryland alone. And maybe, I'll release you.
“You have to realize Del Guarde has ways of making you hurt, starting with you and I, right here.”
Her smirk widened slightly. The Lodestar should be made aware that Del Guarde made a move on him just as much as he made a move on Del Guarde.
“I can’t imagine that the Order’s been all that clandestine about their activities,” he responded. “I’d be worried if you weren’t aware, honestly.”
Fucking Adel, what was he paying him for if he couldn’t even warn him about an imminent kidnapping?
“And the thing about cults,” he continued without missing a step, “is that they’re easy to point and direct, but notoriously hard to stop. You can probably hurt me a lot. It’d definitely suck. But I can’t exactly stop them with a snap of my fingers, so…”
A tendril of a smile crept on his features, then disappeared as if dispersed by the wind.
“…how about a different deal?”
Phade raised an eyebrow. ”I'm listening, ghost boy.”
“The other mafias are out for blood, and no one’s gonna want to play nice with the Del Guarde,” Matthias replied. “Hell, half the reason why I’m attacking Merryland now is because Asterion reached out with intentions towards taking 93rd Street. You can see how things are gonna go real poorly for the cops here soon, yeah?”
Or maybe she didn’t. After all, she called him a ‘ghost boy’ rather than a ‘smoke boy’, which clearly indicated that this woman here had no clue what a ghost truly was.
“Hand over Merryland and give up Yellow Brick. Make it convincing, of course. Real dramatic last stand of a brave precinct. In return, I can ensure that your folks will be the first to set foot upon Heavy Crossguard. Heck, give me a couple of weeks extra, and I can even help relocate you to Smoke Risers or North Battleford.” Make them a problem for the ‘real’ cops and all. Matthias himself didn’t care for northern Nocturnia yet. He could consume the entirety of the south first. “How’s that sound, ghost girl?”
Phade stared for a moment, before she shook her head and rolled her eyes. Standing, she gestured to one of the guards, who brought a tripod with a little camera on top of it. It was positioned to capture Matthias' hopeless state.
Phade was passed a mask, which she slipped on. ”Shame, I liked you. But it seems we'll be sticking with plan one, sending a message to your people.”
And, as one of the guards pressed the record button, there was a click of a switchblade in Phade's hand as she stood over Matthias, prepared to make him scream.
Matthias: W -2 P -4 | W +2.5 P +8The Spies of Silverside
White Pine
Mentions: A few small mentions Interactions:Adel and Spies (@Yankee)
The spies worked quickly in White Pine. Their contact, a sweaty Thorned Rose pusher, sat in one of the cathedrals on a day with no service, prepared to confess to the Silverside spy.
For a price, of course.
”I can tell you what the new drug, Sugercrush, does to people. It'll cost you, though. Boss'll have my head if he ever found out.”
The Cost of the Secret: 2 WDel Guard Territory
As the spies kept their ears to the ground in Del Guarde territory, they overheard an interesting conversation. Two Del Guarde dressed as cops, standing in front of a hot dog stand, having a quick bite before they would hit the road again. Their voices were low, but they might not notice anyone standing in the line behind them…
”The Order is breathing down our necks. I'm just waiting for Sarge to give the green light, and we'll wipe them off the face of Nocturnia.”
His companion turned to him. ”Relax, man. They're not even the reason why we're here. You know what Sarge's little earworm said. A new drug ripe for the taking in Heavy Crossguard. We make that territory ours, we get all those drugs. Sell ‘em off, make a quick buck, and maybe figure out if it's the same as what those Tweakers were high on. If that's the case-”
He got smacked by the other. ”Bro, keep your voice down. Come on, let’s get outta here…”
And they wolfed down what remained of their dogs, heading back to their patrol car.
Heavy Crossguard
As Swift joined the rest of the crew in Heavy Crossguard, they had front row seats to the dirty business of the district. Each warehouse was filled with all kinds of goods that were constantly moving - it was impossible to keep track of it.
Unfortunately, to the trained eyes of the spies, nothing exceptional stood out. That either meant one of two things. Either Poppy's child was being held incredibly secretively, or…
Noah wasn't here. Which meant Heavy Crossguard was a dead end in this regard.
Canary's Offices, Silverside
Speak of the Devil And the Devil appears
It was maybe a half hour after the meeting had been adjourned in Adel's offices when a familiar tap of polished shoes came walking through the front door. Cyrus, dressed in a tan overcoat over a well-fitted suit, entered the building. There was a smoke between his lips, and his stance was relaxed.
His eyes found Griffon almost immediately. ”Hey hon’, how are things on this side of town?”
He took another couple steps forward, tucking his hands in his pants pockets. His smile was easy. ”Is the boss in by any chance? Got a little something for him, his ears only. Something to do with those bombs in Nickel earlier today…”
Adel: W +3 P +5Asterion: W +3 P +5Bella: W +2 P +6
Laterdale Jazz Bar, Laterdale
In collaboration with @Herald
Mentions: NA Interactions: Leon (@Herald)
”I think you'll find if anything I'm traveling light compared to what I could bring,"
The bouncer visibly paled, lips drawing back in a snarl as the detective pushed past him. Lucky for everyone in the den of the bar, there was a lobby filled with jazz memorabilia that separated the entrance door from the second door that led to the den, tables and stage. That gave the bouncer more than enough time.
The bouncer turned away, reaching into his coat and pressing a button on a device. Immediately, red lights flared up along the walls of the bar.
The detective was fast, but the cockroaches knew how to scramble faster. When the detective and his team entered the smoke-filled den of the jazz bar, all that remained were the two musicians playing their instruments as if nothing had happened, and Vincent, relaxed with his arm over the backrest and a smoke between his lips in the central VIP booth. Every single other audience member had suddenly, and strangely vanished.
Vincent looked over casually. ”Detective MacAoidh! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”
As Vincent spoke, he did a sneaky little thing. Leon would notice the air grew slightly heavy around him as the aether attempted to discern his thoughts.
(Proof 1 Proof 2 Vincent: 1, Leon: 2)
Leon kept himself professional as he entered the building, though he was impressed with the speed of their response. He may not have had any intentions of arresting anyone else, but seeing the right faces in the right crowd could still have done wonders for his case. As the air grew heavy around him, his brow furrowed and there was a slight halt to his step. His instincts felt something off, but there was no way for him to understand what was going on. All he knew is that it didn’t appear to be affecting him beyond a feeling like deja vu. He shook it off, it must have just been nerves.
”Vincenzo Accardo, I am Detective Leon MacAoidh of Nocturnia Police Department. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you politely to come with us down to the station for an interview. I was going to say I would rather not cause any undue embarrassment by bringing out the handcuffs,” he looked around pointedly for a moment, “but it seems this place is not as… popular as I had been told.” He gave the man a fake smile, well aware that this place had likely been full of people just minutes ago.
Vicente kept his face as placid as possible, though the static shock he got from a failed attempt to discern the detective's thought was… unpleasant, to say the least.
No matter. He still had his rights.
The low tone of the jazz brought an almost liminal feel to the space as Vincent didn't move an inch from his spot, shooting a slanted smirk right back at Leon.
”I believe I have the right to be informed why exactly you're going through all this trouble for little me, Detective MacAoidh.”
”Of course you do, as a matter of fact, you have a whole list of rights I’d be happy to read to you and very likely will before we exit this building. You and I both also know that once those words get spoken, this all becomes a train of one thing happening after another with official charges and paperwork,” Leon said, continuing to smile back at him, “I take it then you do not want a free ride to the station to answer a few questions and would rather be detained?”
The utter disdain and contempt rippled across Vincent's face for a fraction of a second. Indeed, the detective had him with that one.
His smile twisted, taking a long drag on his cigarette, before he stamped it down in a crystal tray, the slightest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
”The Commissioner has you doing her chores, does she?”
His head shook a little for dramatic flair, before he stood, hands raised to the sides casually to show he wasn't dumb enough to hold anything like a gun.
He moved slowly towards Leon, shrugging with that slanted smirk again. ”Alright, I'll bite. Let's go.
“Been a while since anyone's had the gall to interrupt my musicians’ performances, anyways.”
“Well, my superiors have often noted in my personnel reviews that I am a prideful man with little consideration for others… hobbies,” Leon said, stepping back and putting his arm out to point Vincent towards the door. “The lead cruiser if you please, don’t mind the gentlemen with the shotguns, reports have been going out across the police bands of some rather extreme amounts of violence occurring nearby and so I felt it wise to bring along a little more protection for your personal safety as a citizen.”
”Oh, my personal safety,” Vincent said dryly. ”I'm flattered.”
Soon, Vincent found himself in front of the lead cruiser, and entered it without a fuss. With everyone settled, it was time to return to Burberry.
Leon: W +3.5 P +7, Vincent W +5 P +11
White Pine
Mentions: ??? Interactions: NA
Flint sat as his desk in the evening of the day, staring out at the glinting neon lights of Nocturnia. A glass of wine was absent-mindedly swirled in his hand.
There was a knock at his office door, and he turned in his swivel chair. ”Come in.”
An older man, beat red and out of breath, stood half-way in his door. ”Sir. The crows have flown.”
A beat of silence, before the glass of wine in Flint's grip shattered, red liquid splattering on the floor and glass scattering.
”You've confirmed this?”
Then man nodded, staring at bit fearfully. ”Yes, sir. It's confirmed.”
Flint shook his head. ”I told her… I told her.”
“Your orders, sir…?”
Flint sighed, shaking his head as he stared back out the window. ”...We observe. They knew what they were getting into.
“And, get me a new glass of wine. Please.”
Laterdale
Mentions: Leon (@Herald) Interactions: NA
Matteo pushed his white locks back, a smoke in between his lips as he stared at the catastrophe at the Laterdale Jazz Bar from across the street, half-hidden in the alleyway.
The cops, more specifically, that straight-laced MacAoidh took The Boss. Matteo knew they didn't have anything. Couldn't have anything. But the train had to keep moving, despite everything. Despite their setbacks.
He turned away from the street, walking deeper into the alleyway where his chauffeur was waiting. He pressed a phone to his ear.
”Yeah, they got him. You still in position?”
A pause.
”Yes? Then let's get a move on. All lights green. Let's go.”
The Thorned Roses Attempt to Capture HighpointVincent: W -5 P -10Antonia: W +3 P +5Glyde: W +1.5 P +6Pops: W +1.5 P +5
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